On and on we seal the pages with salt water and promises to live well to make their deaths count.

While you live, the revolution lives

The Eleventh Plague hits disturbingly close to home An excellent, taut debut novel.

I no longer feel any allegiance to these monsters called human beings, despise being one myself.

It means thanks, it means admiration, it means good-bye to someone you love.

Sometimes, when I clean a kill, I feed Buttercup the entrails. He has stopped hissing at me. Entrails. No hissing. This is the closest we will ever come to love.

Here began countless days of hunting and snaring, fishing and gathering, roaming together through the woods, unloading our thoughts while we filled our game bags. This was the doorway to both sustenance and sanity. And we were each other's key.